


Madness

by griners



Category: Football RPF, Xabiano, crisiker, fabsillas - Fandom, gerlonso - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-28
Updated: 2013-06-28
Packaged: 2017-12-16 12:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/861948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griners/pseuds/griners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cris and Iker remember, Cesc is good at a couple of things, Xabi struggles with his past and Steven deals with the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Madness

**Author's Note:**

> In my defense, this was a dare. I'm so embarrassed omg.

**Cris/Iker**

It didn’t start off like that.

(He’ll deny it to everyone, but Iker thought Cris was all talk and not necessarily as good as people said he was before he came to Madrid.)

(He’ll confirm it to everyone, because that’s who he is, that Cris thought Iker wasn’t the best goalkeeper in the world before he came to Madrid. He’ll confirm it to everyone, because his opinion has changed.)

Maybe their opinions changed during the first day of practice.

(Maybe it was the first time they kissed.)

Or maybe, it was Cris’ debut. Or Iker’s first save.

(Maybe it was the way they held each other after the first game. Maybe it was the way Iker had looked at him, said, ‘You’re good’, and Cris had believed him.)

Or maybe it was the first time Cris found Iker on his bed. How he touched him. How he kissed him. How he brushed his hand across his cheek and whispered ‘I love this’, because, he loved it. Iker understood, and laughed quietly to himself, because Cris knew as well.

**Cesc/Iker**

Iker shook his head, frowned. “That’s anything but me.”

Cesc raised his eyebrows, “Uhm, it’s you. See, with the little puff of hair? I even drew the pointy ears.”

Iker scowled. “I don’t have pointy ears.”

Cesc grinned widely, leaned against the counter opposite Iker. “Yes you do. It’s cute, really.”

He shook his head again, put the drawing on top of the counter. “You can’t draw. Don’t do it again.”

Cesc just grinned wider, nodding happily. “Now I totally will.”

“Cesc.”

“Iker.”

“Can you please just focus on what you’re good at?”

Cesc shrugged. “I do focus on football.”

Iker rolled his eyes. “I mean other stuff. Like...” he waved his hand around for a ridiculous long amount of time before he realized he had nothing to say. “Sex. Like sex.”

“It’s actually sad that the only things I’m good at are sex and football.”

Iker raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean, sad? It’s awesome.”

Cesc was quiet for a while, before he smiled, laughed, bit his lip. “You know what? Yeah, it is,” and proceeded to grab Iker by the waist and focus on one of the things he was very, very good at.

**Xabi/Cris**

He’d seen him before, during games. Like a fish swimming deep in the layers of an ocean, feeding on the control as if he’d die without it. He’d seen him saving his team and he’d known, he’d _known_ he’d play with him someday- just maybe not now, not here. Maybe in Spain.

He remembers that moment when he sucks on the skin of Xabi’s neck, or when Xabi closes his eyes and breathes out the shakiest sigh he’s heard. He remembers that moment because- it’s too intimate, too close, too everything he doesn’t want it to be, everything that’ll get him hurt, and he wants to go back to a time where getting hurt wasn’t in question.

When Xabi kisses him and arches his back beautifully underneath him, Cris feels his heart tighten so much, that he wonders if the hurt has already crept in.

**Steven/Xabi**

He gets home at three. He finds Alex on the living room, doesn’t even have time to say hello before she gets up, gives him a look that’s half sympathy, half _I know_ , and goes to the kitchen. And then Xabi’s standing in the room, hands buried deep in his pockets, the guiltiest look he’s seen present on his face.

“Don’t.” he says, broken, disgusted, a dry taste on his mouth.

Xabi looks down like he can’t quite bring himself to say anything. “I’m so-“

“Don’t say you’re sorry, don’t say you’ll miss it, just-“ Steven pulls his hair angrily. “Don’t give me a fucking cliché or I swear to God I’ll punch you.”

Xabi closes his eyes, licks his lips and breathes deeply like the next words aren’t gonna get through properly. “I _will_ miss it. This.” ( _You)_

Steven clenches his fists. “Don’t leave.” ( _Me_ )

Xabi swallows thickly, leaves a white envelope on the couch, goes out the back door.

(Inside there’s a ticket to Madrid, with the date of his first game. Steven wants to burn it.

He boards the plane that day.)


End file.
